


Wasted Daylight

by irisbleufic



Series: Anthology 'Verse (& Related Errata) [2]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Idiots in Love, Jewish Character, LGBTQ Jewish Character(s), Lazy Sex, M/M, Missing Scene, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 08:40:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2061471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"You needn't ask permission," says Hermann, wryly, with a slight push of his hips for emphasis; Newton's eyes glaze slightly at the feel of Hermann's erection.  "I've already given it."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Yeah, but we're in my mom's living room, and that's kind of weird.  Just thought I'd check."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wasted Daylight

**Author's Note:**

> This is designed to be read as a stand-alone PWP, but it has an added dimension for anyone who's read [**_Anthology_**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1075605/navigate). There's a point in [**#16 (Travelogue III)**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1075605/chapters/2442891) where some intimacy is left unelaborated; consider this a thorough elaboration, as [**drhermannhottlieb**](http://drhermannhottlieb.tumblr.com/) requested it. I've quoted the relevant passage in italics as a lead-in. This piece's title is from the "Wasted Daylight" by Stars on [**this mix**](http://8tracks.com/irisbleufic/pacific-rim-anthology). I think I'd wanted to write something evoking the sense of that song for a while now.

_The next day, while Monica coaches her cast in an all-day rehearsal, they sleep late, haunt a nearby pastry shop for a spot of decadent breakfast, and stroll in and out of shops until Newton finds gifts for Tendo, Allison, and Lu. Hermann points out that Herc might appreciate something, although they're at a loss as to_ what _._

_"We can put him off till London," Newton suggests, kicking out of his boots once they've returned to the flat. He directs Hermann to the nearest chair, coaxes him to sit, and bends down to untie his shoes for him, swatting Hermann's hands away when he tries to take over the task. "I bet he's jonesing for proper biscuits or something. I mean, we could pick up some nice beer, but we'd risk getting smacked on our way back through customs. Shipping is kind of a joke; it'd take too long."_

_"Something more substantial than that is called for, one feels," remarks Hermann, and tilts his head at Newton when he sets his hands back on Hermann's ankles even after removing his shoes and socks. "For all he's done in the face of so much hardship. Newton, what on_ earth _are you—"_

_"_ _She's not home for another two hours," says Newton, letting his hands slide up to Hermann's thighs as he leans forward for a kiss, "and I owe you one from last night."_

_"_ _For crying out loud, you do not_ owe _me," Hermann sputters, but Newton's mouth covering his and Newton's fingers unfastening his trousers form far too compelling an argument. "But if there's nothing I can do to persuade you otherwise . . . "_

 

_*_

 

Newton's fingers stop just shy of teasing Hermann through his underwear, instead sliding back up to skim over Hermann's hipbones, his sides, the small of his back.  Newton strokes there until Hermann spreads his legs further apart, pressing closer against Hermann from belly to chest.

"It just so happens you can't," he replies, his voice gone breathy.  "Persuade me otherwise, I mean."  He dipped to kiss the sensitive spot just below Hermann's ear.  "Can I . . . ?"

"You needn't ask permission," says Hermann, wryly, with a slight push of his hips for emphasis; Newton's eyes glaze slightly at the feel of Hermann's erection.  "I've already given it."

"Yeah, but we're in my mom's living room, and that's kind of weird.  Just thought I'd check."

"Stranger than making love in Karla's guest room?" Hermann murmurs, brushing his thumb across Newton's cheek.  He'd shaved ruthlessly close that morning, and Hermann knows he'd best appreciate the absence of stubble while he can.  "Stranger than [the _laboratory_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1075605/chapters/2160145)?"

"That was just a one-off, okay," Newton mumbles, sitting back on his heels, sliding his hands back from where they'd finally settled to palm at him through thin cotton.  "There's a first time for everything, but in that case it was a first- _and_ -last time.  Do you even know what was on that floor?  Later, I can show you an itemized list of the crap I found that time I swabbed—"

"Newton," Hermann sighs, pressing a soft, impatient kiss against Newton's jaw.  " _Yes_."

Newton flashes one of his rarest smiles—small, chagrined, and _earnest_ —before circling his thumb around the button on Hermann's shorts until he's worked it loose.  Hermann sucks in his breath, closes his eyes; he's been thinking of this at least since watching Newton eat _[Sachertorte](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sachertorte) _ during their too-decadent breakfast.  Newton has Hermann's cock between index and middle finger now, skimming with light, teasing strokes as he simultaneously draws it free of Hermann's trousers.

Hermann opens his eyes, face flushing hot, to find Newton regarding him with smug patience.

"See?" Newton asks, uncurling his fingers in order to palm slowly down the underside of Hermann's cock, snapping his wrist at the last minute to curl all five fingers around the base.  "That wasn't so hard was it?  Oh, wait.  Never mind," he adds, all fond sarcasm, and presses a maddeningly gentle kiss against the tip of Hermann's cock.  "You're not gonna slap me for that, huh?"

Hermann exhales shakily, his fingers working their way up from Newton's shoulders to comb through the soft hair at his nape.  "I could not _possibly_ care less what comes out of your mouth at this moment," he manages, "so long as what happens next involves putting the obvious _in it_."

"Jesus, that's hot, you are _so_ fucking hot, _where_ has your dirty-talk been all my life," Newton demands, pausing to suck the head into his mouth, glide his tongue under the glans; helplessly, Hermann hisses with pleasure.  "I'm not even kidding, Hermann, I'll make you get me off just whispering in my goddamn ear or something, just you _wait_ —"

Before Hermann can set his mind to forming another provocative response, Newton swallows him so deep that he can feel the gag-reflex catch and release, the shuddering breath Newton takes as he lets Hermann's cock slide out of his mouth before sucking it back in.  He hums around Hermann's length, lets the briefest possessive scrape of teeth remind Hermann who's really in control.

"Newton, I—I'm _not_ —"  Hermann bites back the remainder of his words, finding them useless in light of the groan Newton's clever, insistent tongue coaxes from low in his chest.  _Any time now_ , he thinks mindlessly, and the only sound he can manage is a whimper; _any time now_ _, Newton, and I_ —

Newton pulls back when the first shudder seizes him, pulls back just enough so he's working the base of Hermann's cock with his fist and lapping at him between spurts.  Hermann lets his head loll against the padded back of the chair, his eyes tracking dazedly along the moulded ceiling.  Newton's already cleaning him up with one of those familiar, worn handkerchiefs he carries God-knows _-why_ ;when he rucks up Hermann's shirt to bury his face against Hermann's belly with a knackered-sounding sigh, Hermann traces the shell of Newton's ear with one unsteady finger.

"What would you like me to _say_?" Hermann ventures; the question leaves him in rush of laughter.

"Are we still having a conversation?" Newton replies, using Hermann's knees for balance as he gets to his feet.  He's hard inside his jeans— _painfully_ so, from the look of him—and Hermann finds himself slightest bit touched that Newton made no move to alleviate this particular circumstance.

Hermann snatches the handle of his cane from where it's propped against the chair, using that and Newton's hand wrapped around his wrist to pull himself up.  The only logical response involves pulling Newton tight against him and whispering, "Failing that, what would you like me to _do_?"

"What you did yesterday," Newton says.  "Won't have to worry about anyone hearing this time."

Hermann is mildly disappointed that Newton's getting-off-to-whispered-nothings plot is being deferred, but it's _effortless_ to set one hand between his shoulder blades to urge him out of Monica's living room and down the darkened hall.  Hermann ignores the guest-room light switch; there's enough late-afternoon sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains by which to appreciate Newton stripping down in uncoordinated, endearing haste.  Hermann props his cane against the wall, finishes the job of unbuttoning his shirt, and kicks out of his wrecked trousers while Newton sits naked and impatient on the edge of the mattress with one hand expectantly extended.

"Thank you," Hermann murmurs, but it's superfluous.  He folds Newton's fingers carefully in his own, twining them, letting Newton tug him over to the bed.  He shivers as they settle, feels Newton warm and restless under him, parts Newton's thighs with the press of his knee to the gratifying resonance of a not-quite-swallowed moan.  "What had you said?" he teases.  "Darling, don't fret."

"Fuck you, shut _up_ ," Newton whimpers, but what words were meant to come after are lost when Hermann kisses a wet trail from Newton's collarbone to his sternum.  He savors the frenetic pulse concealed just beneath, remembers having longed to press his hand to that spot on finding Newton injured and terrified but _alive_.  Hermann turns his head and licks at one nipple, marveling at Newton's shuddering intake of breath.  He nips tentatively at the other, sliding both hands from Newton's hips down to rest on his thighs.  Newton's cry is startling in the silence of the room.

"Apologies," Hermann murmurs, just loudly enough, and lets his tongue dip leisurely into Newton's navel as he finally takes Newton's damp, flushed cock in hand.  "That's sufficient torment for now."

"What had _you_ said?" Newton pants, his annoyed imitation of Hermann's diction falling apart under the strain.  "Like, you know.  That snarky, _sexy_ thing about putting the obvious in—"

Newton is rarely quiet, which is one of the many reasons their first encounter stands out so sharply in Hermann's mind; now, as he guides the head of Newton's cock between his lips, swipes it with the scarcest hint of tongue, an equal and opposing memory is most certainly in the making.   Newton _shouts_ —not words, not _anything_ —while Hermann sucks him slow and thorough.

" _Gah_ ," Newton finally manages, his fingers clenching at Hermann's shoulder blades, frantic, "wait wait _wait_ , Hermann, please, _Hermann_ , that's too much— _please_.  Fuck, I can't.  Hermann—"

Hermann eases off, reaching up to soothingly stroke Newton's wrists.  He's too close to overstimulation, too close to missing the precipice Hermann has so carefully calculated.  Hermann brushes the backs of Newton's hands with his thumbs, whispers _hush_ and _love_ and _here_ ; he's still mouthing his way up Newton's length, soothing, when Newton cries out and comes _hard_.

"There now," Hermann murmurs, stroking him gently through the aftershocks, seeing to it that the last slight spurts don't end up anywhere but on Newton's belly.  "How was that?"

"Is this a game of Questions?  Did I miss the fucking memo?" Newton asks, but he's giggling weakly and scrabbling for the edge of the sheet.  Hermann shifts away from him to snag a few tissues from the box so conscientiously present on the nightstand.  "That was— _yeah_.  Thanks."

"You're perfectly welcome," Hermann tells Newton, and helps him clean up.  "With an hour and a half to spare, no less.  How shall we occupy ourselves till the diva returns?"

Newton takes the wad of tissues from Hermann's hand, tosses it at the bin beside the nightstand, and misses in spite of its significant proximity to the bed.  "How about we just sleep off the cake?"

Hermann slips out of bed to put the tissues in the bin.  Meanwhile, Newton has kicked down the duvet and curled up beneath the impossibly soft sheet.  Hermann lifts the corner and settles close; he pulls Newton tight against his chest, lets one hand drift to rest over Newton's heart.


End file.
